Third Date
by EnchantedApril
Summary: A continuation of Second Date...If he fumbled his way around to a mature relationship, she’d be ready… assuming he didn’t take too long. Contains spoilers for current episodes. FINAL chapter added Nov24th.
1. Prologue

_As the title might suggest, this is a continuation from my short story, 'Second Date'. Reading it is probably necessary if you want to really catch all the nuances of this one. Be forewarned that, like 'Second Date', this story does refer to current season episodes, so if you don't want to be spoiled, keep away._

_On a more personal note, I've received so many nice comments about my stories, and quite a few have also inquired about my health. I have my up and down days, but I definitely feel better than I did, and I have more energy. The achiness persists, and I'm hopeful that after my next appt (in another week or so) I'll get another medication that will help with it. I think I mentioned that I had to cut my hair short and it was a bit traumatic, but now I love it... short and curly and very perky. It helps that everyone else seems to like it better this way too! Okay, enough about me... on with the story._

**Third Date**

**Prologue**

Forecast for the day: sunny with a high of sixty-eight. Almost two weeks of cold and wet weather had ended in an unusual segue into a late Indian Summer. Cameron hummed along to the radio, her voice carried away on the wind. She had her windows open to let the air in. Her hair would be a mess by the time she got to work, but she didn't much care. She'd been wearing it pulled back lately anyway. More professional, she told herself, while at the same time admitting that it hurt just a little to give up the innocent girl look she'd unknowingly been cultivating.

She pulled into the garage, parked in her usual spot and headed inside. Half-way there, she spotted House's car. The top was down. Hopefully that was a good sign. Maybe the weather would put him in a better mood. The past week and a half had seen her almost give up on judging them. It had been that long since their second date, and he hadn't mentioned it, or the possibility of a third, since that day in the lunchroom.

Any number of self-help books would have told her to forget about him. Her few friends would no doubt have joined in with a similar chorus. Cameron hadn't bothered referring to any of them. Her new watchwords were patience and strength.

If he fumbled his way around to a mature relationship, she'd be ready… assuming he didn't take too long. In the meantime, she was done with turning herself into the cutest, sweetest, best version of herself. Was it the concrete knowledge that whatever he did, she would always be right about his feelings for her, or was it just the confidence that came naturally from over a year of working some of the most challenging cases she'd ever seen? It didn't really matter. She no longer held back when giving her medical opinion. She could be just as stubborn as him, and more stubborn than either Foreman or Chase. Their latest patient had been a good example of that, although she didn't have to wonder if Sebastian Charles was part of the reason House hadn't said more that a handful of personal sentences to her. Sebastian Charles had been good for her ego, which meant he had been bad for House's.

As soon as she'd met him in the conference room, bedraggled and ridiculous looking in bare feet and a hospital issue robe, she'd known exactly how things would progress. He was everything House despised. Outwardly good and giving, moralistic, idealistic, handsome, witty. In other words, too good to be true. Cameron knew that she shared some of those characteristics and she wondered sometimes if House hated her for them too, or if he just attributed them to whatever damage she'd suffered, thus making them acceptable as evidence of her dysfunctional personality.

House hadn't hidden his dislike of the Good Doctor, as he called him, with capital letters clearly implied, and Cameron hadn't hidden her exasperation over it. If circumstances had been different… if they had been different… it would have been amusing. Jealous boyfriend taking an instant dislike to the interloper. Only House wasn't her boyfriend (oh, what a terrible word) and with each day that passed she became less sure that he ever would be.

That last day, the day of Sebastian's release, had given her some hope, but it had been two days since then, and House had spent them holed up in his office pretending to work on a piece for some little-read medical journal. That left Cameron and the others to pick up his slack in the clinic and handle the paperwork. Still plenty of time for unbidden dwelling.

"_So, are you going to go out with him?"_

Said so casually, but with a look and a tone of voice that was rarely heard. Anticipation and nervousness and a boyish, lilting, hope. It had been unexpected. How had he even known Sebastian had asked her out? Chase. He was the only one who knew. Had he gone running to House with the news? An attempt to dig his way into House's good graces with some gossip? The suggestion that he wasn't the only one who could betray House for greener, or more equatorial, pastures?

Had he actually thought she'd go out with him? She'd quickly asked if it was any of his business. The one push she'd given in a week. The one little prod. Tell me that I shouldn't. Tell me why it matters to you. Tell me. Of course they were in the middle of the hospital hallway, and she knew his track record for admitting his feelings in those. His 'no' had been expected. She wondered if hers had been.

He'd gone into a rambling explanation about why she'd turned him down, as if he held the secret decoder ring to her thoughts. It amused her to let him talk himself into an explanation that couldn't have been further from the truth. Labels. That was House's thing, not hers. He had her labeled as damaged, and Sebastian as a martyr and himself… for himself he kept a drawer full of labels and swapped them out depending on his mood. It would take more than two dates for him to accept that she was probably one of the few who didn't use them. She'd never seen him as just an ass or just a cripple. Her husband had been more than just a dying man, and she… she was so much more than the simplistic labels he wanted to be able to pin her down with.

She wondered if House had seen Sebastian kiss her. She wondered if he'd seen her smile. She wondered if he knew she'd liked it. Liked being attractive and desirable and worthy, without having to work so damn hard for it. She wondered if he knew that she'd wished those lips had been his, and that if he hadn't become part of her life, she might, she just might, have found herself boarding a plane bound for Africa.

With thoughts wandering, Cameron stepped out of the elevator onto the third floor, unable to remember the steps that had brought her there. She hitched her laptop case higher on her shoulder and released a soft sigh. Time to go through the motions once more. Maybe they'd get lucky and have a patient, or maybe she'd get lucky and House would come to some point of agreement in his mind.

As she neared the diagnostics department's main conference room, she heard raucous laughter coming from within. Strike one. No new patient. She pushed the door open and they tried to stifle their amusement. That meant one of two things. They were trading dirty jokes, or they were talking about her. Dirty jokes seemed the most likely. Chase could be an ass, but he wasn't mean about it, and Foreman had that overabundance of protective testosterone. They might tease her to her face, but they wouldn't laugh at her behind her back.

"Something amusing, guys?"

"No, nothing, Cam," Foreman answered quickly.

"Just making phallic references about House's cane," Chase piped in, earning himself a glare from the other man.

Ah. Making fun of House behind his back. That, she could believe. She was more surprised by Foreman's apparent reluctance to admit it. They both knew, or presumed to know, how she felt about House, but she thought her recent actions would have dispelled any belief in her as the avenging defender of his honor.

"Good to know that penis jokes don't die out in college. Got any good ones about farts and other bodily functions?" She let a bright sarcastic smile decorate her face and the two men stared at her in silence for a second before hastily shaking their heads.

She nodded in apparent disappointment and walked to her desk. She ignored the muffled whispers from the other end of the room, but grinned despite herself. She did like to keep them on their toes. A few minutes later and they waved and muttered goodbye before heading downstairs to the clinic.

Fifteen minutes after that, and her morning routine was completed. Computer plugged in and logged on. Coffee made, and first cup drunk. The good stuff. The stuff he'd bought after their second date. Emails were read and answered, paperwork sorted, and now a small stack of forms was perched on the corner of her desk.

She stared at them for a full two minutes before gathering them up and marching into House's office.

He was at his desk, as usual, with his iPod plugged in, as usual, staring out the window at the beautiful fall day.

"Nice weather," Cameron said, hoping to start things off well.

"What would you like, Cameron?" he asked, keeping his eyes focused on a particularly colorful branch of leaves.

"_Maybe he'll just get better."_

"_You'd like that, wouldn't you."_

House's words caused the scene from four days earlier to play through her mind. You'd like that, wouldn't you. It hadn't been a question. Or had it? Had he been waiting for her to deny it? To deny that she felt something that he thought she must be feeling? He could never just tell her what he was thinking. It was always questions with him, half of them inappropriate, all of them probing without giving anything away. She had never really contemplated the quirks of his insecurity.

"Well?" He swiveled in his chair and she grimaced, annoyed that she had been caught up in her thoughts.

The paperwork she'd brought in to give to him was currently being crumpled between her folded arms and her chest. Paper armor to shield against his rapier wit, his rapier gaze. A flicker in his eyes when he blinked, and she wondered if patience was really what was needed here.

"What would I like? I'd like things between us to go back to the way they were last Monday, when I thought we'd agreed to move forward," she said, careful to keep her eyes fixed on his face. No weakness allowed. "For the moment, I'll settle for having you sign these forms. Dr. Cuddy said they need to be to accounting by noon."

Cameron dropped the handful of forms in the center of his desk and waited to see if he'd say anything. When he didn't, she spun around and headed towards the door.

"Dr. Cameron."

Her name with the seldom used honorific cut the air as her hand wrapped around the cool metal door handle. She pivoted half-way and looked at him without letting go.

"Are you so sure third time's the charm?" He had picked up his cane and was twirling it to give his fingers something to do. Something to make him look nonchalant.

One carefully sculpted eyebrow quirked upwards. "No, not really. But I'm ready to risk it."

The cane thumped against the ground and strong fingers drummed along the curved handle. He tore his eyes from her too stoic, too calm, too certain face, and instead followed the line of the thick vein on the back of his hand. Knuckles to wrist and disappearing into a rolled up sleeve.

"Yeah, that's sort of your schtick."

Labels once again. She released the handle to fold her arms across her chest again. "And what's yours?" she challenged. "I thought risk-taking was your middle name."

"No. That falls more under my medical specialty." He tried to quip, but it fell flat.

A short sniff and a narrowing of pink lips. "And personally?"

He cocked his head and looked at her with one eye. "Still trying to figure that out," he muttered, and she wondered if he was cursing himself for giving even a semi-direct answer.

She wouldn't allow her relieved sigh freedom. She really had no reason to be relieved. "Well, glad to hear you're working at it," she said instead, and turned back to the door.

"Keep your weekend free... just in case," he said perfunctorily, just as she was about to pass through the door.

This time she didn't look back. She didn't want him to see the look on her face.

"I'll pencil you in," she replied, just as casually, and waited until she was at her desk to let even a half-smile pass quickly over her lips.


	2. Chapter 1

_Thank you all for the kind reviews of the prologue for this story (and my other stories as well). Please feel free to post any criticism you may have... feedback definitely helps me hone my writing skills and make each part better than the last._

Please note that this does contain spoilers for current episodes

**Chapter 1**

Surprisingly enough, House was actually working when Wilson knocked on his door at five past noon. Cuddy had warned him that he needed to publish something before the end of the year so he was tapping at his keyboard with the same sort of manic speed he usually reserved for his gameboy.

Wilson's knock was very distinctive. A strong first rap that then petered out to three softer taps as he pushed the door open. He never bothered waiting to be invited in. House didn't even look up when he entered. That was the kind of friendship House wanted. That was the kind of relationship he needed. That was why he and Cameron couldn't possibly work. He waited for people to come to him, and expended the least amount of effort possible once they were there. That's what he had convinced himself worked for him. Cameron would get sick of pushing the door open eventually, but he'd tell himself he'd tried and it was her own damn fault, as he slid back into self-loathing.

"Lunch?" Wilson said, by way of invitation, rubbing idly at the back of his neck where his barber had almost nicked him.

House grunted in reply and Wilson took a few steps closer and angled his body to see what was on the screen. He expected a mocked up photo of some hapless hospital employee who'd managed to piss him off, or a website devoted music, curmudgeons or hookers, not necessarily in that order.

"Hm. Work."

"Yes, that's what we're supposed to do around here, or so I've been told," House snidely replied as he turned the monitor off and swiveled to face the other man. The somewhat tired look on his face took some of the bite out of his words.

"Something for NEJM?"

House looked at him with an expression not dissimilar to one that he might use on a particularly stupid patient. "Well I doubt I'll be making the cover of Newsweek with it."

The emphasis on the word 'I' let Wilson know exactly what was on House's mind. The same thing that had been on his mind for over a week. For a man who claimed not to identify with or be affected by, his patients, House was doing a piss-poor job of it.

"Not Sebastian again," he said wearily, dropping into the easy chair.

"What about him? I don't remember saying The Good Doctor's name."

Wilson rolled his eyes and snorted. "He's been gone for two days, House. I think you can stop whining anytime."

House managed to look both offended and injured at the same time. "Why would I even be thinking about that Schweitzer wannabe?"

"Oh, I don't know," Wilson said, with the tone of one who has said it all before. "Maybe because you've been doodling all over his picture for the past five minutes." He indicated the mangled cop of Newsweek that was currently serving as House's coaster and scratchpad.

House dropped his pen and picked up his red ball instead, tossing it into a lazy arc from one hand to the other. "I can't help it if the man was a walking ad for Unicef."

A subject change was definitely in order. "C'mon. Let's go to lunch. You can tell me where you and Cameron went over the weekend."

The red ball was snatched out of mid-air and House put it back on the desk with audible force. Great. Another subject he didn't want to talk about.

"We didn't go anywhere. We had a patient, remember?" House said stiffly.

"Sebastian was just taking his TB meds. You had plenty of time for a nice dinner somewhere. Are you telling me you haven't been out since the last time? I thought things went well?"

"I think I said, they went as well as could be expected."

"Yeah, that's practically a written five star review coming from your mouth."

House tossed the ball again and then slammed it down onto the still smiling, but otherwise defaced image of Dr. Sebastian Charles.

"Yeah, well, last I heard she was weighing her options and checking flight-times. I'm surprised she's not winging over Africa right now in a single prop plane, flinging care packages out the window with one hand and squeezing TB-Boy's hand with the other."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, you missed the memo? He invited her to dinner. And Africa."

Wilson shook his head in disbelief over House's obvious jealousy. "And yet, you seem to have missed the fact that she's still here. Right down in the lab, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yeah, she's stubbornly loyal that way," he said, ignoring the memory of her voice when she'd lightly told him that she'd pencil him in. Damn it, why did she have to contradict his perfectly good ranting theories with her own reality.

"Right. Because you've given her so much to cling to," Wilson's sarcasm could be even thicker than House's when he wanted to. "Well, I talked to her this morning and she was smiling, so I'm going to guess you haven't spewed all this nonsense all over her yet."

House glared at him for a full minute before looking away and staring down into his now-cold coffee. "I suggested we could do something this weekend."

"That sounds more like it." Wilson stood up and House heaved himself to his feet as well. "Listen, House, I know you don't take my advice on a regular basis, but try not to be an ass for just a little while."

With unexpectedly nimble steps, House limped around his desk and beat Wilson to the door. "No promises."

A slight tilt of the head and one raised eyebrow. "I never expect any," he muttered under his breath.

House was half-way to the elevator when Wilson caught up with him, and the two rode down the two flights to the cafeteria in silence. It was the height of lunch-hour so of course there were too many people there for House's liking. Wilson was just glad that he didn't pull the old 'steak under the salad' trick again. He knew that if House got caught, for some reason he would be the one with the red face.

The aura in the cafeteria was always just slightly off despite the attempts to make it seem like an especially large café, complete with mood lighting, fake plants and not completely uncomfortable chairs. Death was just down the hallway, and yet people were talking noisily and laughing. Families ate together, with one member seated in a wheelchair or hooked to a wheeling oxygen tank; a futile attempt to pretend that things were normal. Doctors shoveled steak and cheese sandwiches into their mouths and tried not to think about the triple bi-pass or pacemaker surgery they were scheduled to perform in less than an hour. Everyone pretended that life inside the hospital was just like life in any other office building, and everyone knew that they were just pretending.

As usual, House led the way to a small corner table. It was partially hidden by a large and slightly dusty fichus tree, and far from both the lunch lines and the doors. He dropped his reuben-bearing tray onto the speckled formica and dropped into a chair. He'd taken his first bite before Wilson was even properly seated.

"So are these the table-manners that so impressed Dr. Cameron?" Wilson asked with long-suffering grace.

"She thinks boorish is sexy," House replied around a mouthful of food, emphasizing the last word and making a ridiculous face to go along with it. He swallowed before continuing with, "and why don't we talk about your love life for a while? Oh, right! You're still married. You're not supposed to have one."

Wilson made appropriate mock-laughter expressions before rolling his eyes and picking up his sandwich.

They were seated such that Wilson had a fabulous view of the wall, while House was able to see the entire room. A few minutes later, House was particularly glad for that arrangement. He was able to continue to eat while nonchalantly observing Cameron and the rest of his team. They were laughing together, a consequence of not having a current patient to worry about, and huddled around a table near the center of the room.

House took another bite and chewed viciously, only half-paying attention to Wilson's rambling complaint about his sister-in-law, while berating himself for his strange new inability to ignore one Dr. Allison Cameron. When he watched another doctor approach her his responses to Wilson grew even more vague and grunt-like. Hardy. Harley. Hanson. One of those. He was an attending up in pediatrics or down in maternity. One of those.

Whoever the hell he was, he was flirting with Cameron. Badly. Obviously. Sloppily. House forced himself to look away and concentrated instead on Wilson's face. Except now Wilson looked puzzled and he wasn't talking anymore. House swore under his breath when his erstwhile friend turned to look across the room, and then turned back and looked at him sympathetically.

"What are you staring at?" House growled.

"You know she's not interested in him."

"Well she should be."

"But she's not."

House snorted, the last refuge of a man who had no good counter argument. "How would you know, anyway?"

"Because he's come on to her for months and she's never responded."

Leave it to Wilson to know the hospital gossip.

House grunted again and pushed the last bite of sandwich into his mouth while keeping his gaze stubbornly fixed away from middle-distance. Damn her for making him notice things that he had happily ignored before. He'd happily ignored any indication of Cameron's life outside the hospital walls, and specifically his insular department. Now, he was being forced to see her as someone people… men… took an interest in. Men who weren't him. Men he compared unfavorably to.

He hated comparisons. He lived his life in a manner that assured he would be compared to no one. The brilliant misanthropic bastard niche was one he had painstakingly carved out for himself. If someone told him he was a bastard, he could make his 'duh' face and move on. If someone told him that another doctor had a better bedside manner he could make a derogatory comment about their abilities and brush it off. Comparison in terms of relationship material was never something he'd had to worry about. Unless the other man was Pee-Wee Herman or Fred Mertz, it was unlikely he could come out on top.

Which was exactly what made him doubt Cameron's motivations. She had to be even more fucked up than him if she found something desirable in his irascible, disheveled, thoroughly insulting person.

That last bite was hard to get down, and he swallowed several times and took a long drink before feeling it slip down his throat, seeming to scratch all the way down to his stomach.

"You have no faith in her, do you?" Wilson made his words less question than statement.

"She has more faith than some nuns I've met," House muttered. "Most of it, misplaced."

"Because you're so undeserving," Wilson said dryly. "A broken man with nothing to give her but heartache and a snide 'I told you it wouldn't work'."

Dry lips twisted into a sneer. "Something like that."

Wilson stared across the table with a look that was closer to disgust than any House had ever seen from the man.

"Self-pity really doesn't look good on you," Wilson told him, "especially when you'd rather cover yourself in it instead of accepting the possibility that there might be someone out there besides me who cares enough to take the time to dig through your bull-shit."

House was in the unusual position of being thrust onto the defense by the man who usually propped him up. "I told you we're going out again," he said, irritated at how ninth grade the words sounded.

"I know you did. So try acting like a man who deserves a third date, instead of a man searching for the fatal flaw in the plan."

"And here I thought my pessimism is what made me so desirable," House countered, regaining his mental equilibrium.

"No," again, Wilson, master of the dead-pan reaction. "Not really."

"I like you better when you're on my side," he groused.

"I'm always on your side."

* * *

_So she reminded him of the father he hated. That was good to know._

Friday morning, and Cameron sat at her desk answering emails she wouldn't remember an hour from now, and thinking about everything that had happened since Tuesday. The answer was: a lot.

They had a patient upstairs who wasn't expected to live through the weekend and another patient who would never forgive himself for causing his son's death. Yet strangely, the acute sympathy she felt for both of them, was overshadowed by what she was feeling for House.

Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to maneuver him into seeing his parents, but Wilson had gone along with her and he obviously knew him better than she did. She'd thought she was helping. Of course she always thought she was helping; that was her problem, as she was sure House would agree. She'd watched him ride off on his own, out of the corner of her eye as she was walking out of the hospital with Wilson. She'd been too far away to see his expression, but the hesitation as he pulled on his helmet and the way he slouched forward before he took off, made her doubt her own motivations.

She reminded him of the father he hated, and yet he'd still opened up to her. He'd revealed more personal information in those five minutes than he had during their entire date and he'd done so without her even asking a question. His little barb about her being over-emotional hadn't even stung because she'd been so surprised to hear him still talking. As her eyes lost their focus on the computer screen, she could see his face in her memory again, soft for a change, almost relaxed, with none of the tight masks he usually wore pulled down to hide his emotions.

He claimed that she and his father shared the same innate moral compass, and apparently he missed the irony in that observation. It had been less than a year since she'd told him that the reason she liked him was because he always did what he did because it was right. If that wasn't indicative of the same moral compass he accused her of having, she didn't know what was. The only difference was that he tried to hide his under insults and brash behavior, while hers was on display for all to see. She could only guess that his father had held his out as an example to be followed and chastised his son for not measuring up, never seeing beyond the shield of sarcasm.

That's how it was in families. The people closest to you never knew you at all. Never bothered to know you. She could relate to that. Hell, she could relate all too well.

She sighed and blinked to clear her vision, then resumed her typing.

Friday morning and House wasn't in yet, and he hadn't mentioned going out over the weekend, not that she'd expected him to after everything that had happened. She hoped he'd made it home in one piece on that bike of his, and then allowed herself a small, twitch of a smile. It had been amusing to pretend she'd never seen it before. Just as well that no one else knew the truth. She didn't need any grief from Chase or Foreman.

As if on cue, her coworkers arrived, Forman with his jacket slung over his shoulder and Chase carrying a bag from the bagel place down the street.

"Morning guys," she called out, glad to hear that her voice sounded perfectly normal. She'd gotten very good at hiding her little disappointments from them.

"Morning, Cam," Foreman replied. "Chase brought breakfast."

"You sure you didn't sneeze all over those?"

"I'm not House," Chase scoffed, then laughed as he tossed the bag on the table. "No germs, guaranteed."

"Coffee's already made. House isn't in yet."

"No surprise there," Forman remarked. "Current patient is diagnosed, and we don't have another on the horizon. That's pretty much the cue for House to slink away and avoid clinic duty."

"I thought you were still covering for him," Cameron teased, referring to the bet that was now common knowledge.

"That was last week, and after the grief he got, I don't think he's eager to trade with me again."

"You're right about that. If I want to have Cuddy breathing down my neck, I want to at least have the fun of having done what I'm accused of." House was leaning against the doorway, cane swinging back and forth on a low arc in front of his feet.

"No leather jacket. You leave the bike at home?" Foreman asked.

"Only take it out on special occasions," House replied, fixing his gaze on Cameron and knowing that the others would miss his pointed stare.

"And what was special about Tuesday," Cameron kept her eyes linked with his for a split second before looking away.

"I was in a good mood."

Chase and Foreman were completely oblivious to the little play being performed right in front of them, but Cameron was starting to feel self-conscious, and she stood up and went to refill her coffee mug to give herself something to do. House watched her, following the line of her body, the sway of her hips, the tightness in her shoulders, and the tilt of her head. He said nothing else.

"Surprised you aren't hiding in an exam room," Chase said around a mouthful of bagel. "It's going to be a slow day."

House reached towards the paper sack and grabbed a bagel for himself. "Give me time. Meanwhile, you can finish the paperwork on Carnell."

Chase looked perturbed and shifted his gaze towards Cameron. "She always does the follow-up."

"Exactly. Time for you to get your chance," House replied. "I've got another job for Cameron." He headed towards his office and indicated that she should follow him.

She hesitated for a second, not sure what he was up to, but there really wasn't any way she could refuse him, so she carried her mug into his office, careful to shut the door after herself, and glance around to make sure that Foreman and Chase were otherwise occupied.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked, as House limped around his desk, bagel shoved between his teeth, and sat down heavily in his chair.

He removed the bagel, and put it and his coffee down on his desk. "Nothing," he replied.

She knew there was more to it than that so she just looked at him questioningly without saying anything.

"I just wanted to make sure you haven't done any erasing."

She was sure that the extra thump in her heart was causing the blood to rush to her face. Hopefully he wouldn't notice.

"Not yet. I wasn't sure… after your parents… and what you said…"

He waved his hand dismissively but she thought she saw a little spark of nervousness in his eyes. "I thanked you for not eating. I owe you dinner."

Her thin fingers tightened around the warm mug. "I don't want you to think you owe me something," she said, with more strength than she was feeling.

"Get over it," he replied, and now she was sure she saw a bit of uncertainty under his bluster. "It's still my name in pencil, right? You didn't schedule someone else in, did you?"

She shook her head. "No. It's still you." It'll always be you, she didn't bother to add,

"Good, because I got tickets, and I'd hate to have to take Wilson."

"Another monster truck rally?" she asked, relaxing and letting a small smile tug the corners of her mouth.

"No, a bit more high-brow than that. You can dress up."

"All right. I think I have something I can wear," she told him, and when he just nodded without giving any more information, she turned and headed back towards the conference room.

"House…" she turned her head slightly as she reached for the handle.

"Don't worry. No corsages. I remember."

She nodded once and opened the door.


	3. Chapter 2

_Here is chapter two, and the beginning of the date. Thank you all for your comments so far! This chapter was a bit more difficult to write, and there are a couple of places I am still slightly unsure about, so any criticism would be very welcome. Thanks again for reading! _

**Chapter 2**

He left another note on her chair that afternoon. All it said was '7pm'. Rather than feeling annoyed that he assumed she'd just be there waiting for him, despite the lack of any formal invitation, she felt a slight jolt of pleasure hum through her body. She thought about analyzing her feelings in comparison to the accepted norm, but decided it wasn't worth the effort or the discomfort. She'd never fit the definition of normal. She guessed that House hadn't either.

"_He's dying. You're tying yourself to a dying man. That's not normal. What am I supposed to tell people?"_

"_I love him, mom. You don't have to come down for the wedding."_

By the time she got the note, he was already gone and it was already five-thirty. She walked out of the hospital with a thin, hesitant smile on her lips after waving good-bye to Foreman and Chase who had both told her to have a good weekend and go out and have fun for a change.

Shower, stockings, dress, hair, makeup, earrings, shoes. She was ready when the rap of wood against wood met her ears.

"Ready to go?" he asked before the door was half-way open, but the searching look in his eyes, revealed that speck of nervousness which Cameron had now become adept at spotting.

"Ready," she replied, lifting her small evening bag from the sofa and pulling a soft wool wrap around her shoulders.

The trip to the car was silent, giving Cameron time to surreptitiously run her eyes up and down House's body. He was wearing the same suit he'd worn at that infamous dinner where he'd given his infamous non-speech and virtually guaranteed that she would be fired if she didn't quit. The shirt was different though, a deep rust color that she'd never seen him wear before. It matched the leaves that were slowly shifting across the parking lot as they walked to his car.

She was wearing a black dress, but not the same one she'd worn to their infamous first date. This one was slightly longer, and sleeveless, with a scooped neckline that stopped before showing cleavage, but not before showing an expanse of pale skin that made House shift in his seat before he was comfortable enough to drive.

"I still don't know where we're going," she said as he pulled the corvette onto the road.

"It's a surprise."

"I think you said that last time."

He graced her with a trademark leer. "Well, I am full of surprises." Her raised eyebrow and sly grin made him quickly turn his attention back to the road. "Just sit back and relax."

Since there was really nothing else she could do, Cameron settled into the black leather seat and resting her hands on her knees.

"You realize you have control issues," she said.

"I prefer to think of them as gifts."

"You would."

They were silent for a few minutes and Cameron cast frequent glances at him, feeling more nervous as the silence stretched. House had been brilliant to pick her up on his motorcycle for their last date. It had completely done away with the need for awkward small talk.

"If you're looking for deep and meaningful conversation, you should have latched onto Wilson," House said, as if reading her mind. "I think he's got a script all worked out."

Her muted laugh hung in the air for a moment before she spoke. "That's not really what I'm after. It would just be nice if we didn't have to go through this," she indicated the awkwardness between them, "to get to the semi-normal talk that we're actually pretty good at."

House shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe practice makes perfect."

And Cameron's heart sped up just a little, because that was one of the more optimistic things she'd ever heard him say.

He ended the discussion about discussions by turning on the CD player and letting mellow jazz music fill the small car. He only smiled slightly when he heard Cameron humming along to the eclectic music. He hadn't known she liked jazz. Of course, he'd never asked.

When they reached the edges of the Princeton campus, Cameron had to speak again.

"Don't tell me you really are taking me to the hospital cafeteria for dinner."

He smirked in her general direction. "No. That would have required an evening gown and tux and darnit, mine's at the cleaners."

Cameron smirked right back at him before leaning forward a bit, trying to guess where they were going. When he parked the car across from the Carl Ichan Laboratory, she turned to look at him with a distinctly puzzled expression.

He finally took pity on her and pulled a stiff formal invitation out of his breast pocket and handed it to her. She read it over and then looked back at him, tiny furrows creasing her brow.

"How did you get this?"

"Cuddy. I owe her another ten hours of clinic duty. Oh, and a promise that I wouldn't embarrass the hospital while I was here. Now hurry up or we'll be late," he answered as he got out of the car.

If he thought his quick answer and quicker escape would prevent further questioning, he was wrong.

"You bargained with Dr. Cuddy to get this? Did you tell her who you were taking?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, but then she wasn't sure if she would have stopped them anyway.

When he had agreed to their first date, she had felt like she needed to tell people. Not because of any hormonal adolescent glee, but because she had been afraid that if she didn't have witnesses to their deal, then he would find a way to back out of it. Times had changed. They had changed. She had been very careful not to let anyone know about their second date. She hadn't wanted the pitying looks or teasing if it had all gone to hell. She wasn't sure how she felt about the idea that House suddenly didn't care who knew.

When he stopped short beside her, she kept walking a step before realizing it, and turning around to face him.

"Would you be upset if I had told her it was you?"

She took the step back to his side. Thinking. Making a decision.

"No," she said, voice strong in the crisp air. "I wouldn't have cared."

He nodded once before walking forward again. "The invitation just says 'and guest'. It doesn't say one is required. She didn't ask, and I didn't tell her."

"Would you have told her if she'd asked?" The question was an obvious follow-up and now the pressure was on House.

He didn't even break stride. "Yes."

Cameron slipped her hand into his as they walked into the building, and was only mildly surprised when he actually held on.

The banner which spanned the lobby announced the event: a select miniature show from the Body Works exhibit which was currently displayed in Philadelphia. Human bodies preserved and posed in such a way that was both fascinating and controversial. Cameron had read the invitation, and apparently one of the senior heads of the Lewis-Seigler Institute, along with an influential alumni, had managed to finance the small weekend-only showing. The founder and inventor of the exhibit was even going to give a short speech before the unveiling, and the reception was already underway in the large hall off the right side of the lobby. People in suits, ties and dresses were mingling about inside the decorated conference room, while the majority of the lobby had been partitioned off with black curtains.

"You know, some people would think that taking a woman to see dead bodies on a third date is a little bit morbid," Cameron said as a waiter strolled by with glasses of champagne and a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

House tipped back half his glass before asking, "And what do you think?"

"I think it's very you," she replied glibly, taking a sip of champagne and holding it in her mouth while the bubbles tickled her nose.

"I'll accept that as a compliment."

They had a chance to eat a few more canapés; scallops wrapped in Canadian bacon, coconut chicken, and finely cut carrots and celery with dip, before the head of the institute stepped up to the podium at the front of the room. He politely asked the assembled guests to take their seats and House and Cameron moved forward and sat towards the middle and on the far right side, where House could stretch his bad leg out into the aisle. Once everyone was seated, their guest of honor, Gunther von Hagens was introduced, with a polite smattering of applause accompanying him as he approached the microphone, and Cameron saw that even House clapped a few times.

Taking another sip of champagne, she leaned back and listened to von Hagen's heavily accented voice as he described some of what they were going to see, and explained his feelings about it all. He was a bit overly-enthusiastic for her tastes, and rambled as well, but she was content to sit there, because House was leaning to the left, his suited shoulder brushing hers. She'd let her wrap drift down to rest in the crook of her arm and the feel of wool against her bare skin was more erotic than she could have imagined.

Several times she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but he was always seemingly transfixed by the man at the front of the room. It wasn't until close to the end of the speech that she noticed that each time she glanced at him, he pressed against her slightly more while keeping those blue eyes focused straight ahead.

A brief fifteen minutes later, and von Hagen closed with a somewhat trite aphorism about how one could only truly appreciate life by witnessing death. House turned towards Cameron as those words reverberated through the sound system, but this time she was the one who kept her gaze studiously trained on the podium. Another muffled round of applause and then von Hagen's speech was followed by the invitation to file out of the hall and go through the exhibit.

The well-dressed assemblage did just that, orderly going back to their mingling as they filtered through the double doors and back to the lobby. House noticed that Cameron had finished her drink, and he gave a short nod to one of the waiters who came around with a refill as they waited for the room to clear out.

"You think he times that speech to be just long enough that people have started to digest and won't vomit as soon as they see his work?" House asked, typically blunt.

"Probably," Cameron replied after a small sip of champagne. She was already feeling the last glass and needed to pace herself. "Of course most of the people here tonight have seen bodies before so he probably won't have anyone passing out like they had in Philadelphia." She looked up at him, wishing she'd worn higher heels so that she'd be closer to eye-level with him. "What do you think of him?"

"I think he's a crackpot, but he does interesting work."

Cameron's initial reaction was to chuckle at House's assessment, and a short laugh did escape before she caught herself.

"You?"

"I've heard there are rumors that some of the earlier bodies were dissidents executed by the Chinese government."

"Interesting, but it doesn't answer the question."

If not for her bare shoulders, he might have missed her small shrug, but the semi-contrite expression was plain to see. "I suppose it would ruin my image to say that no matter where the bodies came from, I still think it's fascinating."

"Ah, a rare blip on your otherwise pristine moral record."

"I'm sure it's not the only one."

House raised one eyebrow as he studied her face for a second. "Interesting; and no, your image remains intact. I never thought that you actually _were_ perfect, just that you _try_ to be."

"Is that so bad?" Cameron asked, wondering if she should be insulted.

"No," he responded, and disappointed her by saying nothing else as he limped down the aisle beside her and motioned her through the doors ahead of himself.

In the lobby, the heavy black curtain had been parted in the middle and tied back to allow people to pass through into the improvised exhibit space, and people milled about sipping their drinks and talking before heading inside. It was easy to distinguish who was there to see the exhibit and who was there merely to be seen by others. Cameron recognized a few of the people from the hospital and the university, but she knew that they probably wouldn't have been able to pick her out of a line-up. They were all heads of departments, or committee chairs, and they didn't exactly run in the same circles, even within the walls of PPTH.

As they walked across the polished tile floor, Cameron's gaze swept over all of them, recognizing that almost all of the women were older than she was, and looked as if attending formal functions was a daily occurrence.

"You look perfect."

If she hadn't felt his breath against her ear she might not have believed he had spoken. "Thank you," she said softly, the flash of insecurity fading away.

The exhibit itself was by turns intriguing, compelling and disturbing. A skeleton walking behind the muscles that had formerly covered it and a man standing, holding his own skin draped over his arm, were not images that were quickly dismissed. Some of the pieces were smaller: perfectly preserved individual organs, the nervous system laid bare for their examination and single body parts stripped and opened. Others were more dramatic and it was impossible not to believe that they had been staged in large part to garner a reaction. There was a full body of a swimmer, neatly bisected with the two halves moving in opposite directions, and another man was posed suspended in mid kick, with all muscles showing, tendons stretched and taut, while yet a third, skin and muscle peeled away to reveal the white curve of a spine, was seated at a desk, staring blankly at a computer screen.

House and Cameron moved around them, speaking only occasionally to point out specific areas, and of course House had to try to diagnose why each one had died. On the whole, however, they were silent, looking at people no one had been able to save in life but who were now preserved, however bizarrely, in suspended animation and staring through sightless eyes at the world moving around them. Neither of them had worked with full cadavers since medical school, and seeing them displayed and arranged as both art and science exhibit brought interesting feelings to the fore. The human body… perfectly formed machine… and what they had both dedicated their lives to understanding and healing.

The area was divided up with curtains partitioning off the different displays, and they had almost finished viewing them all when House paused in mid-stride. Cameron noticed and turned questioning eyes upwards.

"That man waving to me?" he said, motioning with his chin.

"Yes?"

"We used to play golf together."

Cameron looked from the slightly older man and then back to House. "I can walk away. Get another drink," she said, although her glass was only half empty and she wasn't sure why she was so willing to hide herself away like something to be ashamed of.

To her surprise, House looked equally startled by the suggestion.

"I was just warning you," he said gruffly, and now she wondered if she had offended him by thinking he would want her to disappear.

She didn't have much time to think about it because House started walking forward again and the other man and his wife did the same until they were standing face to face and a thick hand was being thrust in House's general direction.

"Greg, good to see you out."

"Same here, Peter," House answered, being more personable than Cameron had thought him capable of.

"You know Marie, but I don't think I've met…"

Cameron was about to introduce herself, and was again startled when House filled in quickly.

"Dr. Allison Cameron," he said, touching her arm lightly. "Peter and Marie Folsum. Peter chairs one of the biological science divisions."

"Nice to meet you," Cameron said as her small hand was pressed between Peter's two larger ones and then lightly shaken by Marie's slim, cold fingers.

"If you're the reason he's out and about, keep up the good work," Peter said with a wink, the sly insinuation better suited to someone half his age.

"I don't…"

"She's definitely part of the reason," House cut in again, leaving Cameron with her mouth parted slightly in surprise.

"Good to see you wised up and stopped feeling sorry for yourself," a clap on the back and an oblivious smile as House flinched more at the words than the physical contact.

"Yes well, we'd better get to the rest of the exhibit," Cameron had regained her tongue and wanted to extricate both of them from the situation.

"Take care of yourselves," Marie said lightly. "We'll have to have the two of you over for dinner."

"Yes, of course," Cameron said, knowing that such an invitation would probably never be given and would certainly never be accepted.

They parted and the other couple was halfway to the next area before House spoke.

"I'd almost forgotten what a gregarious bastard he can be, with his hearty back slaps and constant loud cheeriness."

"You were friends?"

"No, we played golf. He had a good handicap and nerves of steel. Wilson's first wife made him give up playing and I needed someone to go with." He was still looking at them as they walked away, but then he turned to face her. "And what the hell was that, trying to weasel out of having your hand crushed?" His manner was the usual bitter sarcasm, but Cameron caught an edge to his voice.

"Sorry. I wasn't sure…"

"You got over that shrinking violet routine a year ago. Don't start up again," he said. "And for the record, I'm fairly certain you're the one who should be ashamed to be seen with me, not the other way around. I'm not such a bastard that I don't realize that."

She stared at his serious eyes until she felt herself begin to blush and had to look away.

There was only one more exhibit left to see, and the two of them walked towards the break in the curtains, which led to it. They were still a few paces away when House saw the warning disclaimer posted on a small sign beside the entrance.

With a fluid pivot around his cane he turned and motioned back towards the front of the exhibit, saying, "Your glass may be half-full, but mine's empty. Let's see if we can go scrounge up some more bubbly."

Cameron's brows drew together, and those little furrows he'd become so familiar with, appeared on her forehead. Subtlety wasn't one of House's many skills, and she looked from his face, to the sign and back again. His eyes were darting around, in the way she had become so familiar with and she lightly touched his wrist and then let her hand drop.

"Let's finish looking around."

Cameron moved towards the improvised doorway and heard his distinctive steps fall in behind her. She had read about what lay beyond the warning sign, and although the thought of it made her uncomfortable, she was more uneasy at the idea of showing weakness in front of House. She was also surprised that he would let her get away with any show of frailty. Surprised, yet touched. Touched, yet strangely annoyed. Why did he suddenly think he needed to protect her? That puzzle he'd never solved was obviously still picking at his brain, and she didn't want to be his game, his mystery to unravel and then discard like the patients he became bored with after the diagnosis was made.

Again he seemed to read her mind when he rested a hand on her forearm and stopped her before she passed through the curtains. "We're not at work. You don't have to prove anything," he said roughly, eyes slightly hard and finally meeting hers.

"I'm not," she said, convincing herself that it was only a half-lie because she was trying to prove something to herself, and not to him.

He released her arm and she missed the contact immediately. She could imagine that in other circumstances, other lives, he would have his arm around her shoulders or his hand cupping hers, but these were their circumstances and their lives, and fleeting touches were all they were allowing themselves.

The lighting inside was slightly dimmer than in the rest of the exhibit, perhaps to dull the harsh reality of the display. Along one cloth wall were a series of pedestals, each holding a fetus at various stages of development. Four weeks, eight weeks, twelve weeks, twenty-four weeks and beyond… Cameron walked down the row studying them, marking where fingers formed, and wisps of hair covered miniature heads. Then she turned to the centerpiece display and House was just behind her, his warmth touching her back despite the space between them.

It was a woman, eight months pregnant, and set on a platform as if she was simply reclining in indolent ease. Except her hair was gone, and some of her skin removed, revealing milk ducts that would never nourish, while a missing strip of flesh from sternum to pubis created a window into her body; into her womb, where a baby curled, palest white and waiting to never be born.

Cameron felt the tension. Felt House trying to think of something to say. Something sympathetic though he didn't know what he was being sympathetic about. Something understanding, though he had never been told what there was to understand… if there was something to understand. Something to make her blink and move and breathe again. She relieved him of the obligation.

"She was very beautiful," she said and he moved beside her and nodded.

"Ready to go?" He sounded more uncomfortable than her.

"Ready," she replied and managed not to twitch in surprise when he arced an arm around her back and guided her out.

The temperature had fallen while they'd been inside, and Cameron pulled her wrap tight around her shoulders as they walked to the car in silence. House unlocked her door and then limped to the other side to let himself in, quickly turning the engine over and blasting the heat.

"A movie probably would have been a better choice," he muttered.

The cold air ruffled the hair around Cameron's face, and gradually turned warmer, drawing a blush to her skin. She turned in her seat, leather squeaking slightly.

"Movies are for normal people," _normal couples_, she wanted to say, but didn't dare. "We aren't exactly normal. I'm glad you thought of this instead."

House loosened his tie and massaged his leg with one fist. "It's still early," he commented, allowing himself to relax. "I suppose food is out of the question."

Her light laugh sounded almost sad. Life had made her harder than she looked. Dead bodies made her think and feel, but they no longer held the power to make her queasy.

"I could eat something light," she said.

"Light it is," House replied, and threw the car into reverse, pulling out of their parking space and then out onto the road.

As before, silence fell over them, and this time it felt even more laced with tension than before. Cameron wondered if they would ever be capable of simple conversation, and then answered herself almost immediately. There was still too much hanging between them for any light chit-chat to be able to feel natural. Until they cut through it, they could never find their semblance of normal.

They pulled through the gates of the Princeton campus and onto the main road heading towards the center of town.

"Just ask me," she said, fingers tightening around her evening bag, eyes focusing on the nose of the corvette.

"Ask you what?"

"You know what," she said, and of course he did.

He cleared his throat and pulled the car around a pothole. "I seem to recall asking before and being called a bastard."

"That's because you were being a bastard and you had no right to ask me."

"And now?"

Fingers tightened again, picking at a loose thread. "Now you do."

A breath. Then another.

"You were pregnant."

"Yes."

"The baby died."

"The baby was never born. I was two months pregnant when Matthew died and I didn't even know it. His best friend was the one who noticed I was finally putting on some weight. I miscarried three weeks later before I'd even picked out an OB/GYN."

Cameron was stubbornly proud of the way she could now recite the facts without breaking down in tears. It had taken a long time for that to be the case. Now she saved her tears for other people.

"I'm--"

"Don't. Don't say you're sorry," she said lowly, knowing that would be the thing that would make her crack and she didn't want to dissolve messily in the cramped leather interior of his vintage corvette.

She looked over at him and watched his jaw clenching, imagining she could see the muscle itself, naked before her eyes, like in the displays they'd just left. House wasn't a man who wasted time on self-recrimination but something in his expression made her think he was calling himself a bastard this time. She flexed one hand and released its hold on the silk bag, letting it drift over his on the gearshift. It was only a brief caress, enough to feel the sinew beneath the skin, and the fine hairs that dusted the surface.

"I got through it," she said, and just saying those words let her know that she wasn't really 'through' anything, because her chest felt heavy and tight.

"You're stronger than you look," he said, and she thought it was probably the best compliment he could have given her.

Then he turned the CD player on, letting the jazz music create a peaceable lull between them. They were silent, but the tension was broken. When they pulled up in front of House's townhouse ten minutes later, Cameron was confused and it showed on her face.

"I don't think either one of us is in the mood to face other people," he said simply and she had to agree. "I've got eggs and toast and I make a surprisingly good omelet. Or else I can drive you home."

"You still owe me dinner," she said, a slight smile at the edge of her mouth, "and I intend to collect."

"Good. Just don't tell Wilson I cooked for you or I'll never be able to live it down."


	4. Chapter 3

_The final chapter of this little story... and yes, I'm already planning the next... Thank you for your comments and criticism, as usual! _

Chapter 3

House got out of the car and Cameron followed suit, meeting him at the bottom of the stairs that led to his townhouse. She'd seen them before, but hadn't given them much thought the last time she'd been there. Now she wondered for a moment why House was living in a place that required him to face his disability at the beginning and end of every day. It only took an instant for the answer to come to mind. He had probably lived in the townhouse prior to his infarction, and sheer stubbornness kept him there now. She mounted the steps without looking at him, not sure how he would react to her seeing him awkwardly climbing one step at a time when in all other things he seemed strangely graceful despite the cane.

He had his key out when he got to the landing, and nudged her aside so that he could fit it into the lock and swing the door open. With an automatic flip of his hand, he hit the light switch as he entered, and held the door while Cameron walked through. As she got her second look around the living room she thought that it might have been more than just his obstinate nature that tied him to the place. It was very beautiful in a very masculine way. All leather and wood and classic details. Not at all like her strictly modern apartment with its straight lines and harsh angles and sterile conformity. The circular window in her living room was the only unique touch that differentiated her apartment from all the rest on her floor. She realized she was probably looking around too much, and turned towards House who was slipping his suit jacket off and casually dropping it over the back of one of the leather easy chairs.

He was looking at her as if he wanted to say something, and ran her gaze up and down her body, wondering what was triggering his questioning look.

"What?" she asked after another second of silence from him.

"You look cold. It takes a while for the heat to kick on in this place."

It was a little chilly, but she hadn't given it much thought. "I'm all right."

"I probably have something you can throw on so you don't catch pneumonia," he said as if she hadn't spoken, and proceeded to limp away from her and down the dark hallway, flipping on the overhead light as he went.

Cameron didn't follow him, and when he returned she was looking at the black and white photographs that hung over his bookshelves.

"Here. Put this on." He thrust out his hand to give her a navy sweatshirt.

"The tag's still on it," she said with a laugh that couldn't quite decide if it was nervous.

"Oh let me see it," House's exasperation was half of what it might have been and he snapped the thin plastic cord and removed the trendy designer's tag.

Cameron was smiling just a bit when he gave it back to her. "It's not very--"

"Me? No. It's not. My mother's been telling me to layer up since I was ten. She gives me the layers to do so at every available opportunity." He nodded to indicate the sweatshirt. "That's her latest attempt. Gave it to me during her visit."

Dropping her woven shawl on top of his jacket and pulling the sweatshirt over her head, Cameron tried not to think of how silly she probably looked. The hem fell below her waist and she had to roll the sleeves twice.

"Very warm," she commented, attempting to straighten her hair.

House nodded sharply. "Good. It looks… good on you."

Cameron glanced away and blushed, thinking that now she knew first-hand that House was right about everybody lying.

"Come on. You can make the toast. You do know how to use a toaster, I assume?"

She rolled her eyes upwards and looked at him through her long lashes. "Who makes the coffee every morning?" she asked rhetorically. "I think I've mastered small appliances, thanks."

House granted her a low, unexpected chuckle and led the way into the kitchen. It was small but efficiently organized, and surprisingly enough, House actually seemed comfortable in it as he gathered ingredients from the refrigerator and then utensils from the cupboards.

"Since you think you can handle the toast, how about cutting up some of these too," he said, pushing a bag of peppers and a tomato towards her as he cracked an egg into a clear glass bowl.

Strange that as much as Cameron respected him for his medical abilities, that respect went up a notch as she watched him crack eggs one-handed. She already had bread in the toaster ready to go, so she reached for a knife.

"Cutting board's under the counter," House said, anticipating her question.

Those were the last words spoken for a few minutes as the sizzle of butter in the frying pan and the dull thud of the knife hitting the wooden board became their soundtrack. It was almost surreal, standing together in House's kitchen, doing something as domestic as cooking, and feeling more comfortable than either of them would have expected.

"You can put the toast down," and the words seemed more like background noise as House poured the egg mixture into the pan and a louder hissing sound rose in the air along with the scent of breakfast.

Cameron kept an eye on the toast, feeling like a child again, worried lest it burn. She cast frequent glances at House, and he was seemingly oblivious, or maybe he just didn't want to acknowledge her scrutiny as he finished with one omelet and started the next, putting the first one into the oven to stay warm. She was watching him flip the second omelet onto its plate when the toast popped up and she laughed a bit in surprise, the sound startling her. A minute later and she had it buttered and cut.

A simple round kitchen table sat at the end of the kitchen, under a wide window and flanked by two chairs. It was currently littered with books and paperwork and Cameron made a move to clear it off before House stopped her.

"Don't bother. I never eat there. We'll sit in the living room." Then, as if he realized he was being too authoritarian, he backpedaled. "Unless…"

"No, the living room is fine. You can introduce me to 'The OC'." That won her a wry grin, as she'd known it would, and the two of them picked up their plates and headed towards the comfortable open space.

Food was eaten, and Cameron found that she was hungrier than she'd thought and that House was a better cook than she'd expected.

"Any idiot can make an omelet," he'd said, but he hadn't looked at her as he'd said it and she could have sworn there was a glint of pride in his eye.

She had a hard time following the show since she'd only seen a few minutes of it before, but like most soap operas, it didn't take long to get caught up, especially with House muttering explanations to her in between scenes. If there had been a less likely date, she could not have thought of it, and yet she couldn't keep the warm flush of contentment from flooding her chest. Couldn't keep herself from leaning slightly closer to him, as he had done to her at the exhibit. Couldn't stop her hand from cautiously touching his where it rested on his good leg.

Her touch pulled his attention from the flashing colors onscreen, and he looked down at her, soft and young looking in his too-large sweatshirt, but with eyes that stared up at him and seemed to see right through him. When his hand touched her cheek she wondered if he was as surprised as she was.

Their lips meeting seemed the most natural consequence and there was no heart-rending angst or flowery harlequin metaphors as the first kiss led to another. They were both out of practice, and lips and tongues became awkward at moments, but soon found their places, touching, tasting; a sweep inside a warm mouth, a tug on a soft lower lip. Cameron could still taste the remnants of champagne, and the bitterness of the Vicodin he'd taken while cooking. One of her hands rose to his shoulder, and the action drew her closer and she felt his cane-roughened palm sliding under her hair and over her neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin beneath her ear.

Her breathing hitched and she thought she could feel House's catch as well. Another kiss, and then another, and her hand moved to his chest while his stroked down to the base of her spine, and they both knew where things were leading. A breath, and another, and a pounding heart, and then the pleasure in her belly coiled too tight and turned to something else and she thought that House felt it as well because when she pushed just the slightest amount, he pulled his lips from hers and drew back so slightly that they were still breathing each other's air.

"I…" she began, feeling foolish and stupid, because how could she be backing away now that she had what she'd always thought she wanted?

"I should take you home," House broke in before she could continue.

They looked at each other, eyes still so close that focusing was difficult. In passion-darkened eyes, they could still read the truth that they both knew. They weren't ready. They weren't even close to ready.

But they both knew that eventually…they would be.

"I think so," she said, and they both leaned in again and the next kiss was soft and gentle, much gentler than Cameron would have expected from House. It was an unspoken agreement that it wouldn't be their last.

They parted again and House didn't meet her eyes as he levered himself off the sofa and limped towards the chair that held his jacket. He lifted up Cameron's shawl and turned to hand it to her as she started tugging at the hem of the sweatshirt.

"No. Keep it. Looks better on you," he said, words slightly gruff although he didn't intend them to be.

Cameron reached out and took her shawl from his hand, letting her fingers linger and twine with his.

"Thanks," she replied, and it was for more than the sweatshirt, but neither of them would say more despite the words that were tumbling unspoken around them.

"Now I won't be lying to my mother when I tell her it's getting some wear," he said, pulling them back to more familiar, solid, ground with a half-suggestive remark.

He pulled on his jacket and moved to the door, and when he opened it the ground shifted just a bit again as he grasped her hand and led her outside.

They didn't need the jazz music to fill the silence on the drive to Cameron's apartment. They actually spoke. Their speech wasn't completely free of awkward pauses and fumbled words, or from accidental sarcasm and too-piercing looks. Still, it was different than it had been before. Better. Definitely better.

"I'd invite you up for coffee…" Cameron said, trailing off into one of those weak sounding pauses she was trying to avoid.

"No. You're right," House said over the crunching sound of the parking brake being thrown and the high idle of the engine. "I think we're already at our limit of foreplay for the evening."

Cameron should have blushed, and she did, but she also looked at him through half-lidded eyes and showed him a sweet, relaxed smile. One of her eyebrows arched slightly higher and one dimple deepened before she spoke.

"Yeah. Something like that," she agreed with a smirk.

He started to turn off the engine so that he could at least walk her to the door, but she laid her hand over his and stopped him, making him glance at her with a question written on his face.

"You don't have to walk me up." She could feel her heartbeat quicken just thinking of him standing at her doorway. Kissing her. Hands on her waist. Around her back. She liked to think that her self-control was stronger than most, but she didn't know if even she could stop her pounding pulse a second time. "You probably shouldn't walk me up. I--"

"Understood," was all he said, and he met her halfway when she leaned in for a kiss.

It was shorter than the others had been, but it still held the same feelings. Cameron broke away first, delicately licking her upper lip and letting a coquettish smile pull at the corners of her mouth. She squeezed House's hand one last time and quickly got out of the car, her heels clicking loudly in the frozen air as she passed through the Corvette's headlights, her body silhouetted against the night. A few more steps and she would be at the front doors and would turn around to watch House drive away.

"Cameron!" House shouted as he rolled down his window and he sounded just like he was calling out to her to go to the lab or cover his clinic hours, but when Cameron turned to look at him she smiled.

"What?" she shouted back in the same brassy, confident tone.

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

She took a half-step towards him, cocked her head to the side and lowered her voice. "Nothing. I still had you penciled in, remember?"

"Right. Put it in pen. I'll pick you up at nine for breakfast."

"More omelets at your place?" she asked, a bit of coyness slipping into her voice.

"No, I'll actually spring for the diner over on Keeler."

"Never been there."

"You'll like it."

"Promises, promises," she said lightly, wondering how far their unspoken little promises would carry them.

He smirked at her and replied, "Just don't be late."

There were echoes of conversation so long ago; of promises kept in word but not in spirit. Of beginnings that had never led anywhere. They were echoes only.

"I won't be," she said, the teasing mirth replaced by a soft tone and a softer gaze.

With a quick twitch of his lips and a quicker nod of his head, House rolled up his window and watched as Cameron gave him a little wave before turning away. She walked into her building as House drove away, and neither of them looked back. Cameron could almost picture House's self-loathing slipping away just a bit, and House knew that Cameron would carry that slightly hopeful expression all the way up to her apartment.

After stripping off her clothes and scrubbing off her makeup, Cameron snuggled into her bed with the television remote in her hand. No CSI tonight. Tonight she was actually in the mood for one of those romantic comedies she usually scoffed at as being unrealistic.

Halfway across town, House settled himself at his piano with only half a glass of scotch. Tonight he didn't feel the need for more, and he played quick Mozart concertos and a few of the old show tunes that his mother had always loved.

Both of them went to bed thinking about the coming morning, and surprised to find themselves thinking even further into the future.


End file.
